Snared Senses
by ArabellaFaith
Summary: Hermione has decided that she is ready for a real relationship with the man who has been her dom at the anonymous sex club Snared Senses. The fact that she doesn't even know his name doesn't matter to her. Will she change her mind when she finds out who he really is? Quills and Parchment 'Scandal' OS competition Best Smut Winner.


**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

 **Title: Snared Senses**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: BDSM, Sexual Content**

 **Winner: Best Smut**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

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 **Snared Senses**

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This was the night. Hermione was going to do it. After weeks of thinking, planning, and working up the courage, she was going to ask him for a more permanent arrangement. The fact that she didn't even know his name didn't matter one bit.

Six months ago, when she'd gone with Ginny to 'lite night' at the sex club Snared Senses, Hermione thought her friend was nuts. Round the bend. Lost the plot. What could possibly be the appeal of a sex club? Bad music played far too loud, strangers groping you, and the humiliation of being publicly sexualized. It sounded like something right out of her nightmares. Hermione liked her life carefully ordered and tightly controlled. She was desperately private (her brush with fame during the war hadn't endeared her to the spotlight) and even more so in her sex life.

It wasn't that she was a total prude. She'd had more than one partner, after all, and was even liberated enough to own _two_ sex toys, thank you very much. She liked the safety of the sexual encounters she engaged in. So the idea of going to a sex club – even on a 'lite night' where the activities were far more demure than normal – was wholly unpleasant to her.

But the moment she had stepped into the club, Hermione knew that her life would never be the same. While Ginny was shocked, embarrassed, and even a little uncomfortable with the sights that greeted them, Hermione discovered that in some secret, long hidden part of herself, there was a sex kitten waiting to get out. She watched as men and women turned themselves over to more dominant partners to be controlled and satisfied. Far from the degradation and cruelty that she'd expected, the submissive partners seemed more serene, more fulfilled, than anyone she'd ever seen. They handed themselves over to their Dominants without reservation. And despite the fact that they seemed to want nothing more than to please their partners, they always ended the night deliciously satisfied.

Ginny had excused herself from the night early and never mentioned the club again. Hermione, however, had gone back the very next week and began her initiation.

At first, she'd mostly watched. Knickers soaked, she wandered from one room to the next, seeing more forms of sex than she'd ever thought existed. If she was feeling particularly adventurous, at the end of the night, she would choose an exciting couple, and seat herself along the wall. Her hand would slide inside her panties and one delicate finger would rub over the sensitive nub at the top of her sex. In moments, she would be shuddering through a climax.

A month later, one of the couples that she enjoyed watching most asked if she wanted to join in. The witch was on her knees, sucking eagerly on her partner's cock. The choke collar he had around her neck pulled tight when he wanted her to go deeper. Despite what Hermione would have expected, it was the woman who invited her. The offer froze her in shock, and then ignited a fire in her blood that couldn't be extinguished. Did she want to get on her knees before a strange man and pleasure him alongside another woman? The throbbing between her legs said _yes._ She'd never taken more than passing pleasure from performing oral sex on a man, but the idea of sharing a cock with a woman who was bound and subdued, had Hermione getting slick in anticipation.

The experience had been terrifying, gratifying, and had set her up to become an active participant in the club's activities. A few weeks later, she dared to join the ranks of masked Submissives along the Waiting Wall. She watched with bated breath as the Dominants, also in masks, began selecting their partners for the evening. Some had regular partners that they rarely strayed from. Some never chose the same partner twice. Others, like her, had yet to decide if they wanted variety or were searching for the right fit.

That first night, her legs had been shaking as she stood along the wall and let herself be inspected. Entering the club was automatic consent to be observed. Touching, even casual, required prior verbal consent. And safe words were, of course, magically enforced.

Though two wizards (and one witch) showed interest in having her for the night, Hermione waited and accepted an invitation from a man she recognized and knew had mild tastes. Despite the masks, it was often easy to spot regulars. She had seen him with women before, and had often touched herself watching him fuck them. He seemed to know that she was still learning, because he was not only lenient with her, but also thorough, educational, and varied his choices of activities. They chose each other three more times before moving onto other partners. The next had been a witch that Hermione had been desperately eager to please (even if just for the one night). After that came a man whose tendencies toward sadism were far too extreme for her.

And then... _he_ came along. She had seen him before, always with a woman, always controlling his partner with an iron hand. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and darker eyes. Though the entire upper half of his face was concealed beneath the mask, he rather reminded her of Severus Snape. Best of all, he had the voice to match. She'd only heard him speak once before that night, his deep, commanding drawl ringing out over the music as he'd ordered the woman on hands and knees before him to come. It had sent shock waves of pleasure straight to her core.

She had come to terms with the strange fact that this new Hermione, the sexually submissive Hermione, would have been devastatingly attracted to Snape. The parts of her that had balked at his anger and derision, that had feared his dominance and control, were now the parts that longed to be subdued. Snape, however, was in the same place he had been since barely surviving the final battle: withering away in a private home for the infirm. And since she had no need to fear humiliating herself by revealing her submissive needs to the _real_ Snape, his doppelganger was a perfect choice.

He had come right to her on the Waiting Wall, looking at not a single other witch that night. They studied each other for long moments, her eyes roving over his body, his own gaze drawn to her parted lips and then down to her barely concealed breasts. Then, he held out his hand to her and said a single word. "Licorice." She smothered her smile at his choice, but repeated the word back to him. A small spark flitted between as the magic took hold. Their safe word was set. Then, he took her outstretched hand and pulled her into a private room.

She'd been surprised by his choice, at first. Since she had seen him with other partners in the public rooms, she knew he had no aversion to being watched. And because she knew he'd seen her there as well, he couldn't have thought it would be her preference, either. But once he'd pulled her inside and shut the door, a new kind of anticipation began to thrum in her veins. The music was dampened, only the rhythmic beat pulsing through the walls. The light was muted, casting a soft glow over the camp bed in the center of the room. After all her recent sexual encounters being out in the open and observed, it was suddenly thrilling and a little nerve wracking to be alone with an unknown man. The magic of the safe words tied into the club was nearly foolproof – she'd tested it herself – but as long as she didn't say that word, he could do whatever he wanted to her.

He had circled her, stalking her the way a jungle cat might stalk its prey. Then, he'd stopped behind her and cupped her breasts. She could feel his warm breath against her ear. His tongue came out to trace the shell of it as his nimble fingers rolled her nipples and plucked them. When she cried out and arched to his touch, he withdrew.

"On your knees," he ordered in his deep growl. She had complied instantly, going to her knees and settling back in a submissive position, hands palm up on her thighs, eyes downcast. "I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer me quickly, and honestly. You will refer to me as Sir. If you fail to do so, or I suspect you are being less than honest in your answers, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

She shivered, already throbbing and wet. "Yes, sir."

"Do you like to be spoken to during your sexual encounters?" He resumed circling her. Hermione paused. That hadn't been what she was expecting. None of her partners before had asked about _her_ preferences. "Answer me!" he demanded, the bite of his voice licking along her skin like a lash.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He circled her once more. "Are there any words or phrases you do not like?"

"None in particular, sir."

"So if I told you that I was going to fuck your tight cunt, and if you were a very good little slut I would let you come, would that turn you on?"

Her breath hitched. "Yes, sir."

"Is your pain tolerance high?"

"Moderate, but it seems to heighten the closer I get to orgasm, sir."

"And do you desire to be hurt?"

Here, Hermione had paused again. Not in surprise this time, but in thought. He allowed her a moment, and then she shook her head. "Not necessarily, but I am not opposed, sir."

"Then what do you desire? What do you seek when you come here?"

"Pleasure from being controlled. Release from thought or decision. To use and be used for sexual gratification." She heard him pause his circling behind her. "Sir," she added.

"And are there any acts, aside from the limits of the club, that you are averse to?"

"None, sir." Snared Senses had strict policies against bestiality, bloodletting, or water sports on the premises. While there were many things she hadn't yet tried, those were the only ones she was unwilling to engage in.

"Well, then, _cocotte_ , let us begin."

That night had been beyond her wildest dreams. He'd plied her body with strong, sure hands, wrapped her tightly in the silken embrace of his voice, and brought her to screaming orgasm with a curved, thick cock that seemed insatiable. By the end of the night she had eagerly sucked down his release, wanting nothing more than to please him. He was exacting and demanding, with a virtual wellspring of sexual depravity for them to enact. When she needed it, he could be gentle and soothing. At the end of their time together she was more satisfied than she'd ever been in her life.

He was _perfect._

The next week, lined up with the other Submissives along the Waiting Wall, Hermione had prayed to any deity that would listen for him to come to her again. As soon as he walked in, his black eyes met hers, and she fell willingly into them. He had gone directly to her. After she had accepted his safe word – Lemondrop this time – they went to a private room once more. Inside, he stripped her bare, body and soul, and began fulfilling every secret desire she'd ever had.

For months, they had been choosing only each other in the club. They knew each other's likes and dislikes. What turned them off and what could bring them to near instant orgasm. But far from making their situation boring, it gave them a deeper sort of intimacy. His dominance, his need to control, was perfectly suited for her need to give up that control and be subdued. When she needed, he gave. When he craved, she fulfilled. Hermione had long since admitted her addiction to his touch.

Now, she was ready for more. Because it was being continually and thoroughly attended to, her _need_ to be controlled had evolved into a simple craving. But that didn't mean that she was content to only be satisfied once or twice a week. She knew that she would never again want to have a 'normal' sex life, which meant that she needed to find a man who could suit her tastes _out_ of bed as well as in it. The arrangement she had at the club took care of her sexual urges, but she wanted something more encompassing. And unless she was very much mistaken, _he_ could provide what she was looking for.

Their time together had proven to her that he was intelligent, witty, strong, generous, sarcastic, and honorable. She was attracted to him, completed sexually by him, but more than that... she _liked_ him. She liked that he could laugh during sex. She liked that he was always considerate of her needs. She liked that he challenged her mind. And it didn't hurt that he could soak her knickers with just one look.

Her only fear, the thing that had been holding her back for weeks, was how he would feel about her personality outside the club. It was one thing to be controlled, to be submissive, in bed. But in her everyday life, Hermione was as opinionated and assertive as ever. If a man treated her on the street the way she liked to be treated in the bedroom, she would squash him like a bug. So what if he wasn't interested in a woman who was only _sexually_ submissive? What if he would take one look at daytime Hermione and decide she was too bossy, too insufferable, and dismiss her entirely?

Old insecurities reared their ugly heads and made her doubt her resolve. Still, she had to at least try. She'd never been one to shy from her goals. She went after what she wanted. And she was certain that this was what she wanted. So, she wore her sexiest stiletto heels, a sheer black lace dress that he had _growled_ in satisfaction at seeing her in once before, and piled her hair high on her head to accentuate the slim line of her neck. If she was going to risk rejection, she was going to make sure she looked damn good doing it.

It was nearly impossible not to fidget as she lined up against the Waiting Wall. It was merely a formality at this point; they always chose each other. When he walked in, she saw his eyes rake over her from head to toe and noticed in satisfaction that his jaw clenched and his eyes grew dark with desire. It made her feel powerful. She could do that to this endlessly controlled, rigid man. She knew how to make him come undone. How to drive him mad. It was the ultimate rush of submission. The juxtaposition of vulnerability in dominance, of power in servility.

He held out his hand to her. "Jellybeans." As always, a smile curved her lips at his choice in safe word. She repeated it back to him, they waited a moment for the magic to spark between them, and then he pulled her into the first available private room.

As soon as the door was closed, he pinned her against it and ravaged her mouth. Unbidden, her leg rose to hook around his hip, pulling him closer. She could already feel his erection rubbing against her through the plain black trousers he wore. His hand slid down her back and gripped her arse, kneading the firm flesh there. "Did you wear this for me tonight?" he demanded, breaking away from her mouth to move his teeth and tongue down her neck.

"Yes," she cried, arching her back to him as he bit down on the crook of her shoulder.

"But not just for me. You like feeling the eyes of every man in the club on you. You wanted them to see you, to want you." He nipped along her collarbone, moving lower, toward the swell of her breasts.

"No." Her breath came in short pants as she tried to focus on forming words. He was driving her mad with his ferocity. "You, only you." He groaned, slipping his hand up the short dress and feeling her bare mound. His breath hissed as he thrust one finger into her already wet channel. She clenched around him, body trained to respond to him, primed by his rough kisses and urgent bites.

"I am going to tie you down and lick every inch of your skin. When I'm done, you're going to beg me to let you suck my cock. Then, if you are a very good slut, I am going to fuck you. I'll pound your cunt so hard you will barely be able to walk out of here in those sexy little heels of yours." He curled his fingers around her neck, putting just enough pressure on her throat for her to moan in submission. "Now, tell me you want it."

"Yes," she breathed raggedly. "Please take me." He didn't wait for more than that. With a small flick of his wand, tethers appeared at the top and bottom of the cot. He lifted her effortlessly, then stretched her out on the bed like a sacrifice to some dark sex god. With her arms tied together above her head, her breasts were thrust upwards, budded nipples straining against the sheer lace of her dress. He tied first one leg, then the other so that she was open and vulnerable before him. Starting at the toes that peeked out of her heels, he ran the tip of his tongue up her body. Slowly, tortuously, he traced every vein, stopped to lave every freckle. When he got to the juncture of her thighs, exposed beneath the rucked up skirt of her short dress, he paused. Then he skipped past it completely.

Hermione moaned low, desperate for his touch between her legs. She undulated her hips, trying to seek any kind of relief from the throbbing ache... But he moved up to her ribs, then her breasts. She could feel the wet heat of him through the lace. The stiff tip of his tongue traced around her nipple, circling slowly. She arched her back, trying to increase the friction between them. Instead of giving her what she wanted, he moved higher. His mouth returned to her ravaged shoulders and neck, licking where he'd bitten and marked her. Finally, he captured her lips and devoured her.

When he broke the kiss, they were both panting and sweat shone on their skin. He stripped his clothes off with quick, efficient movements, piling them atop his boots at the end of the cot. When he was naked, her eyes were drawn to his rigid cock. It jerked under her gaze. She licked her lips, already eager for the mild, salty flavour of him. He watched her with hooded eyes, then reached down and grasped himself. A single drop of moisture formed on the tip. Hermione squirmed, wanting to lick it off.

"Tell me what you want," he ordered. She lifted her eyes from his cock, past the pale, scared expanse of his chest, and up to his face. His mouth was twisted into a knowing smirk, and not for the first time, she wished she could see his face uncovered.

"I want to suck your cock, sir," she breathed. The jutting appendage seemed to strain towards her. He gripped it tighter and took a step towards her.

"Go on."

"I want you to slide your cock between my lips. I want to wrap my tongue around you, take you deep, and then I want you to fuck my throat." He took another step towards her, a second drop of precome beading on the tip of him.

"Tell me how."

"Hard," she gasped, eyes once more riveted on his cock. "Hard and deep and rough."

"And do you want me to come down your throat?" Hermione licked her lips again and moaned low. She opened her mouth to say yes, to beg him for it, then remembered he had promised to fuck her pussy if she behaved. She didn't want to have to wait for him to become hard again. She wanted him immediately.

"No, sir. When you're done, I want you to fuck me."

"You want my cock in your quim?" He was close enough now that she could almost reach him with her mouth. She whimpered softly.

"Yes, sir."

"We will start with your mouth, and I'll decide if you deserve my cock in your cunt, slut." He gripped her jaw. "Open." Immediately, she opened her mouth. He slid his cock between her lips. She hollowed her cheeks and drew him in, tongue rubbing along the head and then the under side of his cock. When he hit the resistance at the top of her throat, he stopped and pulled back. She sucked hard, trying to keep him in her mouth, and was rewarded with him thrusting forward once more. He rocked deeper and deeper into her mouth each time until he was pushing into her throat. She moaned around him and his control seemed to break. He griped her hair and began fucking her throat roughly, thrusting forward quick and hard. Hermione breathed through her nose and worked on keeping her lips tight around his shaft as he worked himself in and out.

She was throbbing, moisture gathering so quickly that a drop of it welled up and rolled down her arse to drip onto the cot. _This_ was what she craved. He was nearly mindless with his desire for her. She moaned, trying to press her legs together for some relief from the ache but they were tied firmly. Each time the tip of him was buried in her throat she felt herself clench, knowing that soon he would be buried inside her somewhere lower.

In a few minutes, she felt his cock begin to twitch and swell. Before he lost control, he pulled out of her mouth and caught his breath. Her lips were shining with moisture, her hair mussed from his grip. Her eyes bounced from his erection to his face, waiting impatiently for him to give her more.

"Do you want me to fuck your cunt now?" he asked raggedly, trailing his thumb over her bottom lip and watching the way she shuddered in anticipation.

"Yes. _Please._ "

"Tell me you want me."

"Gods, yes. I want you. I need you."

She could see the thrill that ran through him at her pleading. He was fighting to control the need rising within him. "Who does your body belong to?" he demanded, circling towards the bottom of the cot and climbing on it.

"You!"

"This," he stopped and ran his tongue over her swollen, slick slit, "whose is it?"

"Yours!" She shrieked and bowed off the cot. He moved further up, nipping at her breasts, sucking her earlobe.

"What am I going to do to you?" he growled, his eyes meeting hers.

"Anything you want," she whispered back, eyes bright with desire. He groaned, lowered his mouth to hers, and thrust into her hard as he kissed her. Her first cry was caught between them, then he pulled out and plunged back inside her. He breathed in each successive squeal of pleasure as if they were the air that sustained him. His hips snapped to hers, faster and harder as he built up momentum. She was lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, straining against her bonds to try and take him deeper. He wrapped one arm under her thigh and jerked it up, snapping the tether and then shoving her knee against her chest so he could fuck her harder.

The angle of her hips made the tip of his cock rub deep inside her, making her tense and moan, her body ready to shatter at any moment. His own climax danced just under his skin, so close, but he grit his teeth and pushed it away, not ready to be done, wanting to drive himself deeper and deeper into her until she would never get him out. His free hand gripped in her hair, yanking her head to the side so she was looking directly into his eyes. "You. Are. _Mine_." He growled the words with such intensity that Hermione felt herself fly apart, shatter into a million little pieces. Her orgasm ripped through her, making her body clench around him helplessly. He continued to plunder her, thrusting deep as his hips slammed into her with such force that it would have moved her across the cot had she not been tied down. Then he kissed her, rough and desperate, muffling his own shout against her mouth as he thrust forward once more and spilled within her.

Their bodies jerked and twitched, aftershocks of pleasure tripping through them deliciously. The kiss that had been so savage only a moment ago became soft, tender. He slid his tongue over her lips, ghosting kisses against her jaw and eyes. She sighed and felt another thrill of pleasure go through her. This was what made her so sure she wanted more with him. Not just the animalistic lover who devoured and dominated her. But the gentle side of him, too, that cherished every inch of her.

When the last drops of pleasure had been wrung from them, he slowly withdrew from her, picking his wand up and using it to free her from the bonds and vanish the one that was still around her ankle. Then he scooped her into his arms and held her against his chest as he crossed the room to collapse into the plush chair in the corner. They both caught their breath, hearts slowing until they were beating in tandem.

"How do you feel?" He always asked her that. She smiled and stretched a little in his arms.

"Wonderful. Sated. Boneless. You?"

"Well, I'm certainly _bone_ less after that." He smirked and she laughed, reminded yet again of just how much she enjoyed him. All of him.

"You seemed very... possessive tonight."

He stilled, breath catching for a moment before he forced his chest to rise and fall evenly. "You know I don't like to share."

"I know."

"Is that-" he risked a glance down at her, "a problem now?"

Her eyes flew up to his, surprised. "No! Not at all." She smiled and felt him relax again. "I like it. In fact..." She took a deep breath and made sure to keep her voice light. "In fact, I've been thinking maybe we should make this a more exclusive arrangement."

"I was under the impression that neither of us saw anyone else in the club. What more did you have in mind?"

"I think we should see each other _outside_ the club."

"You mean socially?" He sounded dubious. "Be friends?"

"Actually, I thought we would continue with this type of arrangement. Except without the club setting. And more frequently."

"You want to reveal our identities to each other and then keep sleeping together?"

"Perhaps even more than that."

"A relationship?" She nodded, biting her lip. Would he push her away? Demand they start seeing other people now? She only just managed to keep from twisting her fingers together nervously. "You are asking for a relationship with me without even knowing who I really am?"

"I already know everything I need to know about you."

He grunted in disbelief. "What if I'm an old man?" he challenged. Hermione shrugged.

"You're obviously young enough to keep me satisfied sexually. You're healthy and have plenty of stamina. I assume that you're older than me, but I don't much care what the number is."

"My face could be scarred or deformed behind this mask."

Hermione shrugged again. "I like to think that I wouldn't be so vain or shallow that something like that would bother me. I am obviously attracted to you. That wouldn't change."

"I could be married."

She froze, dread icing along her veins. Her heart twisted sharply. "Are you?" she bit out between clenched teeth.

"I am not. But it proves my point. I could be anyone. Have any kind of life outside these doors."

"I think we are compatible enough that we could make something more between us work. My biggest concern is that you won't find my personality outside of here palatable. The rest, I believe we can work out in time." She took a deep breath. "If, however, you don't wish-"

"What if you know me?"

"What?"

"What if we already know each other, out in the world? Would you still want more if you knew me, had a history with me?"

Hermione laughed, splaying her hand on his chest. "I have no doubts that I would recognize you if I knew you already. You are a rather unique man, after all. In fact, there is only one other man who I've ever known like you in looks and mannerisms, and I know for certain that you aren't him. So-"

"Do you?" His black eyes bored into hers, robbing her of words. Her breath caught. "Are you so positive?" He stayed perfectly still beneath her, not touching her as he watched her every reaction. She drew back, brows furrowed as she studied him.

"Y-yes..." Suddenly she _wasn't_ so sure. It couldn't be possible. Could it? Everyone knew he was too injured, too weak to even take care of himself. But... no one had been able to see him. No one, not even Harry, had actually laid eyes on him since the final battle. She searched those black eyes, seeing them as if for the first time. There were so many things that were new and different. His body was lean, yes, but muscular and solid. His hair was black, but soft and clean. Those hands... gods, those hands. They were strong and sure, impossibly deft. That hadn't changed, but somehow the idea that the same hands that had diced and stirred endlessly were the hands that had been over every inch of her skin, _inside_ her... She tried to reconcile the two and was brought up short.

But there was one thing that whispered to her, slid along her synapses with startling clarity. That _voice_. There really was only one man who had a voice like that. With shaking hands, Hermione tugged lightly at the edges of his mask. It resisted for a moment, then the magic holding it there gave way and she was able to pull it free. It fell from her fingers to the floor, forgotten.

"Snape," she whispered. He swallowed, and she watched the movement as if in slow motion. Her eyes roved over his face, each little thing she knew about _him_ , the man she had come to know and trust with her body, sliding around her mind as she pushed the two beings into one. There were more lines around his eyes than when she had seen him last, but somehow, he seemed younger. Perhaps the strain of the war aged him prematurely. But now that it was over, had he regained some of his lost youth? That inky hair spilled across his forehead and brushed his shoulders, more tame than it had ever been in her years as a student. Perhaps he merely had the time or inclination to manage it now that he was no longer a spy? And his body... She let her eyes rove over him. Her legs were on his lap, so she wasn't yet forced to face his groin, but the rest of him seemed somehow both strange and familiar. The height was there, the imposing stature. But now he seemed so much more solid than he ever had before. She was caught between her attraction to the man who'd just brought her to climax, and the awe she felt for the man she'd known years ago.

She'd been a fool not to see. Perhaps willfully ignorant of the truth. But then, would it have mattered?

She had admitted to herself not long after she had first come to Snared Senses that if she had been aware of this part of herself back then, she would have been attracted to the dominance, the control, of Severus Snape. It was one of the things that had drawn her to _him_ when she'd first seen him. So now that the two men were, in fact, one and the same, did that really change anything? Should their history matter?

A new thought struck her and she gasped softly. "You knew. You already knew who I was."

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Maybe your second or third time in the club. Before you began to participate."

Hermione ripped her mask from her face and let it clatter to the floor as if in accusation. "You knew that long ago? Why didn't you say anything?"

"What was I supposed to do? Go up to you and ask why Hogwarts brightest graduate was in a sex club?" He shook his head, and Hermione, reluctantly, had to agree with him.

"Why approach me at all, then?"

"I hadn't planned to. I stayed away from you for weeks. You seemed content with the first Dom you'd picked, and I had no reason to go near you."

"But then?"

"Then you switched. You spent the night with that sadist who-" He stopped, trying to regain control of his breathing. He realized his fists were clenched and released them. "I realized that there were things you did not need to experience. Things you did not need to be exposed to. And I could keep you from them by giving you what you were looking for myself."

"You thought you were saving me?"

"Not in so many words, no. You were always free to use your safe word, when you realized that your partner was not right for you. I knew you would not come to any real harm. But I'd watched you enough to know what you wanted. And to know that I could give it to you."

"Then none of this has been real? None of it was about you?"

"You know better than that," he said sharply. One long, pale finger swept across the inside of her thigh, through the wetness that lingered there. "Undeniable proof, wouldn't you say?" He sounded bitter.

Hermione closed her legs self consciously. "That's not what I meant. The point of this, of all this," she circled her hand, encompassing the club with the gesture, "is to get pleasure through pleasing. Through doing what someone wants."

"No, it's not." Snape's voice lowered, impossibly, and Hermione found herself pinned with his eyes. "For you, it's about getting pleasure in being _controlled_. The acts themselves don't matter nearly as much. Whether or not they are my fantasies, my desires, isn't nearly as important as _making_ you do them." She started to protest, not that he was wrong about what she wanted, but that if they weren't his desires, then their arrangement was one-sided. "But," he went on as if she hadn't tried to speak, "what we do in here has always been in accordance with my wishes. I am not a saint, Miss Granger."

"We just... fit?" Hermione sounded doubtful.

"So it would seem."

"Then why didn't you tell me who you were? Why hide the truth, especially when it became apparent we were compatible?"

Snape sighed, wishing not for the first time in their discussion that he was clothed. "The point of coming to an anonymous sex club like Snared Senses is to avoid having to reveal my identity. It is hardly as if witches flock to my bed with this face and my reputation."

"No one has a chance to react to your reputation because no one thinks you are out in the world. Everyone is convinced that you are infirm and shut away in a care facility."

"Exactly. My prospects are little better than they were before the war, so being truly anonymous is infinitely helpful. I am not a man who can go out and woo a woman. This solves that problem for me."

Hermione shook her head. "There are so many things incorrect about that assessment of yourself that I won't even begin to try and contradict you. But still, your erroneous thinking aside, that doesn't answer my question. You told me why you originally thought you needed to come to an anonymous sex club, but that doesn't explain why you didn't tell _me_ who you were. You must have seen early on that this," she gestured between them, "was good."

"Indeed." He fought a smirk, recalling how quickly it had become apparent that they were sexually compatible. "But what should I have said to you? 'Oh, by the way, I am actually the greasy git from the dungeons, now bend over so I can fuck your arse'? How about, 'remember that professor you hated in school? Well now you've got his cock in your throat.' Or 'yes, I've known you and been mercilessly cruel to you since you were eleven, now let me continue the humiliation by spanking you until you come'." He ran one hand down his face tiredly and then rubbed the back of his neck. "I was selfish enough to want this to continue, and revealing my identity would not have been conducive to that end."

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?" He gave a short, mirthless bark of laughter. Hermione fought to keep from shaking the man.

"I'm still here, aren't I? I haven't run from the room, or even tried to move from the rather delicate position we find ourselves in." She shifted her legs slightly, feeling her calf rub against his cock. "If you would stop dwelling on the past for a moment, I could tell you that none of our history together matters in this situation." Snape's face clearly showed his disbelief. "Yes, I was taken aback at first. It is still difficult for me to reconcile the man I knew during the war, the harsh Potions Professor, with the man I've come to know you as now. But in case you haven't noticed, I am incredibly attracted to you. Even – _especially_ – the things that haven't changed. I would not have accepted your first offer if I didn't find the similarities between you and Professor Snape to be a turn on. Before, those things upset or frightened me, but surely you know that now they are a huge part of what draws me to you."

"Perhaps I had hoped..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a breath between his teeth. "Whatever thoughts I had before this revelation are irrelevant."

"No, they aren't. My offer still stands. Is it one you want to accept?" Despite the shock of learning his identity, despite her still conflicted emotions, despite the turn the night had taken, Hermione was still nervous he would reject her. Obviously he had no problem fucking her, knowing who she was. But that didn't mean that he would want any kind of relationship with her outside the club.

A long silence stretched between them. Snape studied her carefully, those black eyes seeming to pierce right through her. They drifted over every feature of her face, lingered on each laugh line, pausing at every freckle. Then he slowly curled his fingers around her ankle. "Yes, it is." There was dead silence for a moment, and then Hermione let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Well, then." She suddenly felt almost shy. Asinine, really, considering his seed was still dampening her thighs. A shiver went through her at the thought.

"It seems we have quite a bit to discuss. Might I suggest we adjourn to somewhere more... neutral to continue our conversation?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed hurriedly. Snape offered her his hand to help her rise from the chair. She took it, feeling his fingers as if for the first time. As if she hadn't long since memorized every callous, every groove, every vein in those capable hands. When she gained her feet, she was forced to keep a hold of him for a moment. He had indeed 'pounded her so hard she could barely walk in her heels,' just as he'd promised. Once she steadied herself, he rose and walked to where he'd piled his clothes.

She watched him, thinking it should be bizarre to see him naked now that she knew who he was. Before, he had always been covered in a swath of black that stretched from neck to boots. Strangely, though, he looked just as commanding, just as in control, while wearing nary a stitch. Was it simply his presence that demanded respect? He slipped on his trousers the way any other man did, and yet he was so startlingly different from any man she'd ever known. Once he had finished buttoning his shirt and pulling on his boots, she looked him over and wondered how he could look so familiar and yet so foreign. Her mind kept trying to superimpose the image of the Potions Professor in severe, billowing robes atop the far more casually dressed man standing before her. The boots and snug black trousers were the same, but the black linen shirt he wore was open at the collar, and his sleeves rolled up to reveal pale, corded forearms. Still, there was no question that it was the same man. Without his mask on, his hooked nose betrayed his identity beyond a doubt.

He cleared his throat and looked down at her body pointedly. Hermione jumped a little and laughed. With a touch of her wand, the sheer material became a flat black. A touch risque, perhaps, but certainly presentable. Snape scowled. He stalked towards her, pointed the tip of his wand at the hem of her dress, and drew it lightly downward. The material grew along with his wand until it brushed the top of her knees. Hermione pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow at him.

"If our previous encounters failed to show you, then I would think tonight's performance would have made it clear that I am a _very_ possessive man."

"So it would seem."

"And you're certain that's not going to be a problem?"

Hermione let his velvet words roll through her and felt her stomach clench. There wasn't any other man she wanted. Perhaps his possessiveness should irritate her, perhaps it was an antiquated notion, but she found herself excited by it. She felt _wanted_. She shook her head. "No, I don't think that's going to be a problem at all."

"Good." He offered her his arm in a rather formal gesture. Despite the strangeness of it considering their recent intimacy, Hermione smiled and slipped her arm through his. "Would you like to go to the bar, or-"

"Not inside the club, please," Hermione cut in. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, then admitted, "I think we should talk about this somewhere... outside here." Snape paused a moment, then nodded.

"What do you suggest?"

"There's a deli a few blocks down from here. It's open all night. If you don't mind a muggle establishment?"

"Not at all." He opened the door and ushered her through. Instantly, the sounds and smells of sex were all around them. "Wait-" he stopped and caged her against the wall, his head bent down close to hers. At first, Hermione thought he was going to kiss her. They had kissed so many times before, but this would be their first one without- She gasped, her hand going up to her uncovered face. Already, he had flicked his wand at the door they had just walked through. He caught the masks as they flew towards his hand, then lifted hers to place it on her face. "Mustn't give up our anonymity completely," he murmured. His breath brushed against her face, but Hermione felt those words all the way to her toes. He smirked. She plucked his mask from his free hand and fitted over his eyes.

"Considering both our reputations, I think that's sage advice."

With both their masks in place, he took her arm once more and they walked through the club. Questions began to churn in Hermione's mind, but she held her tongue. There would be time to ask them soon enough. Once they made it out the front doors, Snape seemed to change. She watched his entire countenance relax. His face softened somewhat, his posture became a little less rigid. She was intensely attracted to his dominance, but Hermione was relieved that his demeanor was less intense outside the club. It gave her hope that they could have some equality in the nonsexual part of a relationship between them.

They walked down to the deli in companionable silence. Hermione needed three steps in her heels to every one of his long strides, but he didn't seem inclined to hurry her. If anything, she thought he was perhaps a little _proud_ that she was still a bit unsteady on her feet. When they reached the small shop, he held the door for her and ushered her through with one hand on her lower back.

How was it possible that such an innocent touch sent a thrill through her after everything they had already done together?

They both ordered sandwiches – roast beef and cheese for him, BLT for her – and then took seats in the far corner of the shop. Hermione took a small bite, but wasn't really hungry. Snape didn't even lift his sandwich. He tented his fingers beneath his chin, a gesture that she'd seen countless times before.

"I can see that you're barely containing your curiosity, Miss Granger. You have questions. Ask them."

"I think, considering the nature of our... relationship... perhaps we can move past formalities? I'd like if you called me Hermione."

He gave a single nod of his head in agreement. "That seems reasonable. You should call me Severus, then."

"Severus." Hermione smiled a little at how foreign the name sounded on her tongue. "That's going to take some getting used to."

"Indeed." It would be a difficult switch for him, also.

"Well, then, _Severus_. Why does the entire wizarding world think you are helplessly infirm and cloistered away?"

The smirk he gave her contained no humor. "All things considered, would you want to face life in the public eye with my reputation and history?"

"Maybe things would have been difficult before you were exonerated, but after you were cleared, you became a national hero. You're just as famous as Harry." Hermione sighed inwardly as his lip curled at the mention of Harry. Surely they were past old animosities?

"Exactly my point, Miss- Hermione. I would not have been able to step foot outside my door without being bombarded by Skeeter and her ilk. Worse still, not everyone was entirely convinced that I was innocent. While my dueling skills are proficient, I had no desire to continue looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life."

"Alright, that's fair enough." There had been times where she'd seriously considered either moving out of the country or changing her name to get some peace. She could imagine that it would be far worse for him. He had always seemed like an intensely private person, and the trial had aired the most intimate details of his life to all and sundry. It couldn't have been an easy change. "What about the club?"

He arched a brow. "I told you earlier, women have never flocked to my bed. I am not... self conscious about my appearance, but it has done me no favours. Combined with my natural inclination to be a snide bastard, anonymous, impersonal sex was the perfect solution."

"But why a BDSM club? There are plenty of sex clubs in England. Most of them are anonymous. Why Snared Senses?"

"I would think my natural inclination towards dominance would be obvious."

Hermione shook her head. "If that was the way it worked, I would be dominant sexually, too. In every other area of my life, I need strict control. Even when I was younger, I was better at forging my own path than following rules."

"So I recall," he drawled. She flashed him a somewhat abashed smile.

"But it's that drive to always be in control in every other aspect that makes me want to give it up completely in bed. Being sexually submissive is cathartic for me. It's a release." She watched him as he picked up his sandwich and finally took a bite. It seemed like such a mundane thing for a larger-than-life character like Severus Snape to be doing. But he was still as human as any other. He had to fill his stomach, empty his bladder, cut his hair, just like everyone else. He was just a man. An enigmatic, sinfully sexual, paradoxical man. "So it doesn't make sense to me," she forced her mind to focus and went on, "that you would be seeking any kind of release through control simply because it was in your nature. Maybe it's like that for some people... but I don't see that as being true for you."

She shrugged, then took another bite of her sandwich to cover her nervousness. She was making a huge assumption about his personality and drives. While she didn't think he would mock or criticize her for it, he could easily be offended. He studied her for a moment longer, then indulged her in a small smile.

"Actually, you are completely right." Hermione felt the tension that had begun coiling in her stomach ease. "I believe my proclivities have more to do with the lack of control I had in my life for so long. It is... extremely satisfying for me to exert that control over a sexual partner." His eyes grew hot and she could tell that he was thinking of getting a taste of that satisfaction again. "So now that we are aware of each other's motivations, what more would you like to discuss?"

"Well, I had gone to the club tonight with the intention of asking for a more permanent arrangement. Something more involved, and even though I believe it's already been an unspoken arrangement between us, something exclusive."

"And knowing what you do now, is that still your intention?"

"It is."

"Then tell me, Hermione," she shivered at the way he drawled her name. "What exactly do you propose?"

"To..." she had to stop and take a breath. He was devouring her with his gaze and she was becoming lost in the intensity of it. "To see each other socially. Maybe go on dates." The word sounded insipid when applied to the man sitting in front of her. "And be available to each other more than once or twice a week for sex."

"How do you know once or twice a week isn't all that I am capable of?" He raised both brows in mock concern. Hermione nearly choked on her drink, she was laughing so hard. His own lips curled up reflexively, enjoying her amusement.

"I hardly think that will be an issue," she finally managed to choke out.

"Perhaps not," he agreed. "The rest of your requests also seem... reasonable. Though I will warn you now, I am hardly more pleasant than you'll remember me being."

"You are already far more pleasant than I remember you being. We have had an entire conversation, including several delicate topics, and you haven't insulted me once."

"Haven't I? How could I have been so remiss?" He looked her over carefully, as if trying something to insult. "Alas, I can find nothing to criticize, apart from your choice of companion."

"Of all the things in my life right now, that's the one thing I feel most confident about."

"Is it?" He seemed guarded, as if he expected her to deny it.

"Yes, it is." She paused, recalling her own insecurities. "I think it's only fair to warn you as well, that I haven't changed much in the years since you knew me last."

"The fact that you are a submissive in a sex club would seem to belie that statement."

"I have changed in terms of sexual preference, yes, but outside sex I am still pushy and exacting, and I talk far too much, and I read incessantly. I recall you being rather put off by those traits."

Severus sighed and studied her hand resting on the table as he thought of how to form his next words. Unbidden, his fingers traced along the veins beneath her pale skin. "You know that I was a spy during the war. That my actions were constantly observed and questioned. I'm sure you also have figured by now that it would have been suicide for me to show any kind of partiality to a muggle-born student. I won't apologize for my actions during the war. I did everything in my power to work toward the greater good and the fruition of Albus' plans. But you should know that I never bore you any ill will.

"It was refreshing to have a student so eager to learn, while so many of your peers were more interested in Quidditch or socializing. Your reliance on books and refusal to make your own intuitive leaps drove me to distraction, but even that trait you grew out of. By your last year under my tutelage, I had nothing but respect for you. Though I will admit, even if I had been free to, I likely would not have divulged that fact to you. Praise does not come easily to me, nor do pretty phrases. They never have."

Hermione forced herself to think about his words rather than the way his fingers were tracing over her hand. "I don't hold your actions during the war against you, Severus. I understand them, and if anything, I should thank you for them. Knowing that you didn't hate me back then goes a long way toward soothing old insults. But I think you're wrong about not being able to give praise easily. You have a honeyed tongue, Severus Snape. Maybe it only shows during sex, but you've said more sweet things to me during our times together in the club the last few months than the last man I was involved with did during an entire year."

"I hardly think dirty talk during sex is the kind of compliment most women want."

"Maybe not. But I'm not most women. I don't need someone else to praise my intelligence for me to feel smart. I don't need my life choices approved of to feel validated. In most aspects of my life, I'm confident. The one area where, for now, I do seem to need nurturing... is sex."

"Yet another way that we 'fit'?"

"So it would seem." Hermione lifted her hand from the table and laced her fingers together with his. He seemed startled by the gesture at first, then squeezed her hand lightly. "Now that we've decided we won't utterly hate each other's personalities, what's next?"

"I thought you were the assertive one outside the bedroom?" Severus smirked. Hermione scowled at him and flicked the tip of his nose playfully.

"I am. But that doesn't mean that I have all the answers in a situation like this. We sort of went about starting a relationship backwards. We already have intimacy down to an art. It's the lighter things that neither of us are familiar with."

"Then I suggest we set aside specific times for satisfying each other sexually. Weekends are a given, considering we have already been meeting at the club every weekend. Perhaps one or two more nights a week, when both of us are available, while we are getting to know one another better?"

"That seems reasonable."

"And as for the 'lighter things' as you call it, I would not be averse to the idea of... courting you." He paused, searching her face as if he expected her to reject the offer. "If that is what you want," he clarified.

"I think I would enjoy that." The smile that had begun as a simple quirk of her lips spread into a grin.

"Good."

"And if we realize that we are as compatible as I think we are? Besides in just sex?"

"Then I would request we add a level of convenience to our arrangement."

"Convenience?"

"Sharing the same living space would certainly make for better ease of access," he said conversationally, as if discussing an article he saw in the paper, but she could see his pulse jumping. "And if one of us is already spending most of their time at the other's residence, it certainly makes more sense financially-"

"Are you suggesting cohabitation?" Hermione's grin widened.

"Stop smiling like the Cheshire Cat, woman. Yes, that's what I'm suggesting. I will not be an easy man to live with. I keep my books meticulously organized-"

"Mine are alphabetized by author, then subject, then genre," she interjected.

"I keep odd work hours."

"Working in the Regulation of Magical Creatures department means that I'm up for midnight meetings with the centaurs, and early morning gatherings with House Elves."

"I am a terrible cook."

Hermione slid out from behind the table on her side and moved to sit beside him. "I love cooking."

"I-" his breath caught as she shifted slowly, ever so slowly, closer. "I have been told that I am insatiable."

"Oh, I don't think that's going to be a problem." She whispered the words against his lips.

"What will your friends say?" he managed to ask, his hands sliding up her back of their own accord. She smiled again, and he could feel the curl of her lips against his.

"I love them, but I don't really care. Besides, I think they'll adjust fine. After all, they love a good scandal." She pressed her lips to his, twining her arms around his neck and drinking him in. One of his hands fisted in her hair, holding her to him tightly. He was her match in every single way. She never would have imagined, never could have dreamed, that _he_ would be the one to complete her life, but now that she had him, she was never letting go. Scandal or no scandal, she was his for good.


End file.
